Self-awareness
So.
Hm.
Let me start by saying I am an angry man. Bitter. Single, with very few close friends (and those from my college days – we have all moved on, some quite literally to other cities) and even with my close friends: we’re not that close.
I am far from a workaholic — in fact, I’ve settled [to an extent] in my career, in as much as I voluntarily work retail.
But I work retail because I love books, and a long-standing dream of mine has been to work in a bookstore, and eventually own one. I’m living the dream; the customers are a necessary evil to be endured.
It might be different if I were a “people person”, the gregarious sort who loves to talk and meet people and ask what they’ve read and what they’re reading, who has a beaming smile to great each and every customer.
I am an introvert, almost violently so, and while I don’t hate people, I much prefer to watch them than interact with them. I can spend hours (days) alone, in my apartment, with my books, and my comics, and cartoons on DVD.
And I’m happy.
It’s not that I need to get out and meet people. I don’t need to ‘try this single’s group, I think you might be surprised’ or ‘just go to a couple of these events, what can you lose’ or ‘just meet people’.
I am not unhappy because I’m alone — I wasn’t unhappy at all, but now I’m unhappy because I’m being forced out of my comfortable nest, I’m being forced to meet people, being forced to make small talk.
I hate small talk.
I’m not just unhappy, I’m annoyed. And I’m getting angrier.
##
How does an introvert and borderline hikikomori cope in a retail job, interacting with people for 8 or 9 hours at a time?
It’s an act. I’m faking it.
You know that one clerk at the bookstore, who always smiles and is polite, with just the right guiding questions, who seems to have read everything? The one you hope is working whenever you go into the store, the one you seek out because he always knows the book even when you can’t remember the title or author? He seems so interesting — if only you could get him to talk a bit more, he surely knows all sorts of things, and must have dozens of good recommendations…
Yeah. That might be me.
I’m polite, but I don’t mean it. Smiling makes my face hurt. And when I walk away after handing you the exactly right book it’s not just because I’m busy (…but I am busy) — I walk away because I don’t like people. Not You; not especially or particularly you, anyway: I don’t like everyone.
…and I know so much about books because I compulsively research everything — I crave data and information like some folks crave chocolate, I might even go so far as to say I need it. I love the internet, it’s chock full of information, it’s a godsend for people like me.
Between the undiagnosed Auspergers, an odd-but-nearly-photographic memory, and a lifetime spent reading: I am perfectly suited to answer stupid book questions; uniquely qualified, in fact. That’s part of the package deal: I’m an introvert, I’m a booklover, I collect and synthesize data as easily as breathing – while retaining enough social skills to be able to hold a job, and to deal with customers.
It doesn’t mean I like it, it just means I _can_.
It is exhausting to act for 9 hours straight. And to do it well enough that no one guesses you’re playing a role, that you’d much rather be at home, alone, reading and not the sunny smile and bright light who lives for customer service.
It doesn’t take much to get on my bad side at work, because I’m already way outside my comfort zone. And it certainly doesn’t help that I’m the manager, so after one of my booksellers makes an honest mistake, or just rubs a customer the wrong way, I’m the one who has to step in and ‘make things right’.
So after a long day at work I’m exhausted from Acting Like An Extrovert, and likely annoyed because of stupid questions, and occasionally grumpy because quite a few customers just suck and there’s no human way possible to make some people happy.
##
I’m not as smart as I wish I were, likely not even as smart as I think I am. (The internet can be humbling; there is always someone smarter than you on the ‘net.) I’m certainly not as witty a writer as I think I am, though I can’t help writing.
And while I don’t enjoy personal interaction, it seems I crave attention on the internet. Maybe it’s the fact that people are removed from the equation: you’re a handle, a nickname, an 100×100 pic and 140-character description. I see URLs and IP addresses in a hit log, not readers. So many hits per day, per month; Google Analytics even gives me graphs.
I did mention I love data. The internet is a game I can play, not a community to be engaged, not a relationship.
##
So here’s the problem:
I’m not a great wit for the ages; I might not even have much to contribute. But I want to play this game — and I can do it from my cave, alone, with beer: It’s Great!
But I have to wonder, even given my dim awareness of societal norms, if I’m doing it right.
I’m sure there are times I’ve just been annoying. Like a little kid wanting in on the grown up conversation, and with as much earnestness and enthusiasm, but also not knowing the rules.
That, and I’m an alcoholic — which is unrelated (even sober I’d still be an introvert) but which occasionally leads to bad judgement.
AND I’m angry. Work makes me angry, bitter, and tired — and being tired also occasionally leads to bad judgement.
I’m thinking it would be best to stop playing the ‘internet game’, at least when it comes to social media. Stick to writing, and data analysis, and my own little projects. Respond when asked questions directly, but give up my attempts to be followed, to be read, to be noticed. Because even on the internet, these new tools still represent personal relationships. Because especially on the internet, it’s far too easy to be a newb, or a troll, or a spammer, or just plain annoying.
In other words, on the ‘net I fear I’ve become much too much like the customers I hate in the store.
##
I will still be on twitter, as it is an excellent way to broadcast links to a self-selected audience, and maybe on Google+ [though Google+ seems too much like Facebook to be of use to me]. But I don’t know that I will ‘be on twitter’ quite as much. Not in the ‘having an online conversation’ sense.
It’s not that I don’t like you anymore, or that I’ve come down with a dread disease and can’t be online. I just don’t think it’s working for me, and it wastes a lot of time.
Even online, it seems, I am an introvert.
##
I don’t need feedback on this; I wasn’t looking for sympathy or asking to be argued out of this. I recognize behaviours I don’t like, and which I’d like to stop. I know some will see me withdrawing and will interpret that as something different, me saying I don’t like them.
For that: I’m sorry, it’s not your fault.
To those I’ve drunkenly tweeted at 1am: I’m sorry, that was my fault.
To those I’ve inadvertently spammed: I’m sorry, but that link/site/story/video seemed really funny at the time.
To those who followed me for the reviews, or analysis, or insightful essays, and who then had to follow me through drunken rants and long asides, and personal digressions: I’m not really sorry, as that is *me* and I’m a package deal, I can’t (or won’t) set up separate channels for everything.
I already have a separate site for reviews, booknom.net, which gets criminally ignored most weeks [I’m working on that] and I have one other site launching before the end of summer [something completely different] — but Rocket Bomber is _me_, with the lumps and the books and beer and the comics and the graphs all inclusive. I can’t figure out how to parse that, and won’t unless someone pays me to do so.
[if you would like to pay me to produce content you can specify whatever you’d like]
So, Summary:
I am an angry man, and a drunk, and I do far too much sharing on the internet.
I apologize for past transgressions, but not really, and can only provide the barest placative: that I know I’ve been annoying and am attempting to not — I can’t correct the behaviour, but I can stop.
And if you see less of me on twitter, now you know why.
